


Small Game

by Lillian



Series: Dessert [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:23:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian/pseuds/Lillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haizaki spills the beans about fucking Kise. That gives Aomine ideas. And Sakurai is so very obliging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Game

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same verse as my Haizaki/Kise fics, but can be easily read as a stand alone.

Aomine can't stop thinking about it. He's never wondered what two men might do together, never thought there might be anything interesting about that. The idea of anyone willingly fucking Haizaki is disgusting. Kise must be out of his mind. But there was something about Haizaki as he said it, like a dog with a big juicy bone, stunned by his good luck.

Aomine lies back on his couch with the afternoon sun slowly climbing up his body, thinking about Haizaki tipping back Kise's head and sinking into his mouth. Kise would be sprawled on a bed, head just on the edge, tilted so that Haizaki could thrust all the way in and watch Kise's body writhing as he was forced to swallow him up.

The image plays on a loop in Aomine's mind, keeping him in a state of low-grade arousal. He should jerk off, substituting the image of Kise and Haizaki with himself and some big-breasted model. Except Aomine's imagination isn't working too well right now and he's too lazy to get up and dig out a magazine for inspiration. He ends up drowsing until the sun shifts to shine right into his eyes, then gets up to get ready for work.

The bar is more irritating than usual. Aomine's there as bait, at least that's what Satsuki says, and they're full enough that she might be right to get on his case about making regular appearances. Aomine yawns without bothering to cover his mouth, serves the occasional patron when the other bartender can't get to them quickly enough. There aren't enough big-titted women in the room to keep him paying attention. There aren't enough big-titted women in Tokyo, not ones willing to fuck Aomine, or at least not ones willing to fuck Aomine twice. One of them got drunk at the bar once, weeks afterwards, and quietly told Aomine the way he fucked her made her feel like a whore. She didn't come back afterwards.

Aomine leans his elbows on the counter - Satsuki isn't here to reprimand him tonight - and thinks about that woman. He didn't think she was a whore. He didn't think about her at all beyond the immediate pleasure he could get from her. And she had fun too, he thought. Women were confusing, and that was one area Satsuki wasn't any help at all.

It's the middle of the week and not that packed, so when Sakurai comes in, Aomine notices him right away. Sakurai dutifully came to the opening, congratulating and apologising to Aomine by turn the whole time. He let Imayoshi force a couple of drinks on him, enough that two warm pink spots appeared high on Sakurai's pale cheeks. Aomine and Satsuki ended up bringing him home that night, soused and spewing excuses, which was at least better than spewing his guts. Since then Sakurai turned up occasionally after a shift at the hospital, ordered a single drink then sipped it slowly, making painfully awkward conversation with Aomine because even when she was here Satsuki somehow managed to make herself scarce. Aomine stuck it out out of the kind of morbid fascination that made people slow down by car crash sites.

Sakurai sees him and actually waves, then immediately shrivels up, looking like he wants to apologise for it. He hurries towards the counter, weaving around other people skittishly, probably about to apologise for not apologising sooner.

"Good evening, Aomine-san," Sakurai says instead, hopping on the barstool directly in front of Aomine and tugging nervously on his jacket sleeves. "Thanks for having me."

Aomine stares at him, as if noticing him for the first time. The wings of Sakurai's collarbones are peeking out of the too wide neck of his t-shirt, fine and fragile-looking. His Adam's apple jumps up and down as he swallows. His bangs bob about every time Sakurai blinks, too long and catching on his eyelashes.

"Aomine-san? Sorry, do I have something on my face?" Sakurai asks, rubbing on his nose.

Aomine shakes his head mutely, annoyed at being caught staring. He snags a glass from under the counter and starts mixing Sakurai one of those fruity, sweet drinks for lightweights he likes so much.

Sakurai watches him work, looking almost at ease now. Aomine pours out the finished thing, decorates it carelessly and slides it in front of Sakurai. Sakurai, of course, immediately goes for the fruit boat. Aomine can practically see the wheels in his head turning, wondering whether to slide the fruit off the stick one by one or nibble on the Amarena cherry first, his favourite. Fuck, he must be dangerously bored of his job if he actually noticed and remembered how Sakurai likes to eat his cocktail garnishes.

Aomine pulls back, ready to fuck off to the alley out back or something until Sakurai gets done with his fruit salad of a drink and leaves, but then Sakurai bites off a piece of pineapple daintily and Aomine just... doesn't leave.

Sakurai notices him watching and swallows quickly.

"This is really good, I should have said so right away," the sentence devolving as usual into a string of sorries. There's a girl with bright-orange lipstick and C-cups leaning on the corner of the counter, trying to catch Aomine's attention. Aomine tells himself he would have headed her way if she'd only been a D, but as it is he turns his back on her, angling towards Sakurai. It occurs to him that it doesn't make any sense since Sakurai has no tits at all, but in the next instant another thought distracts him.

"You coming straight from work?" Aomine asks, and Sakurai nods. "They kept you late again, huh?"

Sakurai looks uncomfortable, which is answer enough.

"Some medicine deliveries needed stacking," he says guiltily, and then adds another unnecessary. "I'm sorry."

"I'm pretty sure you're not getting paid to be a 24/7 errand boy," Aomine says, and scratches the back of his head when Sakurai's shoulders draw in together even more, like he's been scolded. "Never mind that a nurse's job is to look cute in short skirts and white stockings, and you'd suck at that."

The attempt to lighten the mood works. Sakurai's eyes dart at Aomine's face quickly to gauge how he meant that, and he must decide it's a good-natured joke because he smiles a little.

"My apologies about that, Aomine-san. I'll do my best to look cute if the need arises."

Maybe it's that almost coy, almost teasing picture of Sakurai joking with his eyes nearly meeting Aomine's eyes, maybe it's the mental image of Sakurai in a little pink nurse's uniform, with a strip of creamy thigh flashing between silk cotton-candy stockings and the hem of his skirt, maybe it's stupid Haizaki and his stupid boasts about fucking Kise six ways from Sunday. Whatever the cause, that's when Aomine decides to take Sakurai home.

* * *

Sakurai argues a little, breathy and desperate, when Aomine wants to leave the light on, but quickly relents when Aomine takes him by the hips and half-manhandles, half-carries him into the bedroom. The backs of Sakurai's knees hit the edge of the mattress and he falls back gracelessly, limbs and stupid overlong hair flying every which way.

Aomine knocks Sakurai's knees open with one leg, climbing on the bed between Sakurai's legs and tugging off his own shirt in one movement. Sakurai stares up at him, giant fucking doe eyes wide and pretty mouth open in a perfect O. Aomine has two fingers in it before he gets the chance to realize he wanted to do that. Sakurai looks even more startled for a moment, before his eyelids droop closed halfway as if he's been drugged, and he sucks on Aomine's fingers timidly.

Aomine closes his free hand in a fist around the offensive neck of Sakurai's shirt and tugs it aside hard, finally baring the base of Sakurai's delicate throat and that tempting collarbone. He kisses there, open-mouthed and noisy, then sucks a mark the same way Sakurai is sucking on his fingers, now frantic and hard like he can't get enough of them, like he wants to suck on something else of Aomine's.

Aomine feels ravenous all of a sudden, or more like he's been starving all along and has only just now become aware of it. He flips them over, Sakurai ending up half on top of him with his head on Aomine's chest, mouth empty and forehead scrunched up in momentary disorientation. Aomine smoothes down the frown with a thumb, then pulls on the back of Sakurai's shirt until Sakurai gets with the program and lets Aomine undress him. He even shows some initiative, taking off his pants on his own, hands shaking so badly he only manages to thumb the button open on the third try.

Aomine unzips his own jeans, showing off as he slides them down his hips along with his underwear. His cock springs free and Sakurai freezes, gawking at it unblinkingly. Aomine knows it's big, big enough to intimidate, but Sakurai looks more fascinated than anything. He kicks off his pants all the way. Sakurai can ogle him another time, right now Aomine has a bad itch to scratch and everything else can wait. Sakurai seems to wake up when Aomine reaches for him and goes easily when Aomine draws him in by the back of the neck.

He curls his fingers around the bottom half of Aomine's cock, then touches his lips to the crown almost reverently, taking it into his mouth and giving an experimental lick before pulling back to ponder the taste. He even licks his lips thoughtfully, and this is more than Aomine can bear. He buries one hand in Sakurai's hair impatiently to guide him back where he wants him.

This time Sakurai's lips close around Aomine's cock tightly and inch down until the whole of it is covered by either Sakurai's mouth or his hand. It feels great, it feels amazing, and Sakurai knows what he's doing, except _Sakurai knows what he's doing_ and fuck if Aomine doesn't hate the thought of Sakurai sucking cock like a pro and Aomine not knowing anything about it. It feels like everyone he knows has been in on a secret he's only now discovering, and the thought he could have been doing this since high school is fucking infuriating.

He pumps into Sakurai's mouth and Sakurai lets him, eyes trained on Aomine's face, veiled and shining with tears, fingers fluttering against Aomine's arm. He would have loved to come in Sakurai's buttery mouth, or down Sakurai's sweet, tight throat, or all over Sakurai's blushing face, but that too can wait.

"I wanna fuck you," Aomine says simply, and Sakurai, who never seems able to refuse anyone anything, moans around Aomine's dick like he thinks Aomine just had the best idea.

Aomine has condoms, he always uses condoms with girls, and Sakurai's clearly not a pure as the driven snow virgin, and yet they end up fucking raw.

Sakurai mumbles something about lube, but otherwise lets Aomine do with him whatever he wants to. He looks drugged again. Aomine arranges him on his knees on the bed, facing away, and slicks his own cock, yanking on it a couple of times roughly at the sight of Sakurai's narrow, bony back. Lower still, Sakurai's ass looks delicious, and when Aomine gives one cheek a squeeze it's firm but with the perfect amount of give.

Aomine's dick head kisses against Sakurai's opening, and even though he intended to finger some lube inside Sakurai before they fucked, he takes his cock in hand and lines up to push inside. It's tricky, but Sakurai cooperates, opening obediently and pushing back weakly when Aomine fucks his way in. It's almost too tight, and barely slick enough. Sakurai's shaking, so Aomine draws him back against his chest to settle him down. The movement makes Sakurai sink all the way on Aomine's cock and Aomine growls against Sakurai's temple.

Sakurai's sitting on his lap, long, coltish legs folded up over Aomine's, back flush against Aomine's chest, head lolling lazily on Aomine's shoulder. Aomine has a clear view of Sakurai's front and there's no way to avoid noticing either how Sakurai has no tits, or how Aomine doesn't give a shit. He'd happily bite his way down Sakurai's birdbone-brittle ribs and suck on Sakurai's ripe strawberry nipples until they're nice, wet, and pointy before rubbing his cock off on them, even though Sakurai's flat as a board. Aomine's cock is hard enough to hammer nails where it's shoved in Sakurai's ass, and he can only hope that Sakurai wants a repeat, because there's no way Aomine can be satisfied with a single go.

"You like this? Want me to do anything else for you, Bambi?" Aomine asks, the stupid nickname stealing out of his lips with no permission from his brain. Sakurai turns to him, giant brown eyes wet now, pleading, and Aomine should get a fucking medal for this, or more like a medal for fucking, because he manages to kiss Sakurai deep and wet, stroke Sakurai's nervous erection, and fuck up into Sakurai's little rump at the same time. Sakurai seems to appreciate it, at least, because he comes with a surprised shout not a minute later.

Aomine should probably stop, ask him if he's okay to continue, but it's so fucking tempting to keep Sakurai against him with one hand on his twitching belly and grind into him, let that pulsing asshole milk him dry. The position gives him the familiar thrill of crowding Sakurai up, like old times, stealing food over his shoulder while Sakurai trembled helplessly, and with that thought Aomine tightens his arms around Sakurai and empties inside him in hot, nearly painful bursts.

Afterwards they just drop off on top of the covers. Sakurai's all right for a couple of minutes of lazy kissing, of Aomine bumping their noses together, teasing, eating out Sakurai's mouth and sucking on his tongue, but then he falls asleep, and Aomine grudgingly accepts there won't be another round tonight.

Aomine thinks about liberating the blanket from under them both, but Sakurai's hot enough and it doesn't seem worth the effort of moving. He sleeps better than he had in months.

When he wakes up, the bed is cold and there's the smell of breakfast cooking in the air. Sakurai's in Aomine's kitchen, sadly fully dressed and fussing about with food like Aomine would eat _him_ if no other alternative was available. Maybe he's right.

Sakurai looks skinny and male and inconspicuous like he always had at school, but the switch that made Aomine want to fuck him so bad he couldn't see straight hasn't flipped back to indifference, if it was ever there. Aomine makes a split-second decision.

"Hey, Sakurai, you got a boyfriend?"

Sakurai jumps up and spills miso soup all over Aomine's stovetop. Then he starts stuttering in his haste to apologise, turns bright red when he looks at Aomine who hadn't bothered dressing, and starts apologising afresh for looking, or maybe for Aomine being naked in the first place, it's hard to tell. Aomine calls out Sakurai's name again, trying to stave off another fit of excuses.

"Y-es? I'm sorry, I didn't hear that," Sakurai answers, twisting Aomine's pink, fluffy tea towel in his hands. It's one of a set, a house warming gift from Satsuki. God only knows where Sakurai had found it.

"You got a boyfriend?"

"No!"

 _Now_ Sakurai sounds indignant, not when Aomine dragged him home to fuck him out of the blue, or when he was using Sakurai's body any way he wanted, like by implying he would cheat Aomine's finally reached his limit. It's encouraging, in a way, because maybe it isn't that Sakurai can't say no, maybe he just didn't want to say no to Aomine.

"You want one?"

Sakurai blinks rapidly a few times, looking lost and questioning, like he thinks maybe Aomine is playing with him. But then he bites his lip and asks quietly.

"Are you offering, Aomine-san?"

"What do you think?" Aomine rolls his eyes, and Sakurai actually looks like he's still wondering. Hopeless. "Don't fuck anyone else. Cook for me. Tell me if you want anything. I can do, I don't know, birthdays and anniversaries if you like. So, you up for it?"

Sakurai's eyes grow as big as saucers and he clutches the tea towel to his chest like a shield, or maybe a chastity belt. He still looks eager enough, for Sakurai.

"Yes, yes, I want- I mean, I agree," Sakurai mumbles immediately, and then his back straightens and he looks determined, the way Aomine's only seen him during a match. "Provided Aomine-san doesn't f-fuck other people either." Aomine nods tersely, because of course, and tries not to show how cute he finds that flustered stutter after the way they'd spent the night. He reaches out for Sakurai. They end up celebrating their new relationship by sixty-nining on the kitchen floor.

Two days later, on the way to pick Sakurai from the hospital and scare the assholes Sakurai works with off of making him do their jobs on top of his own, it occurs to Aomine that this is all due to Kise's horrible taste in fuck buddies.

If Aomine had any reservations about dating a guy before, they disappear after that realisation.

After all, it could have been so much worse.


End file.
